Winter Song
by turtledoves
Summary: You can tell a lot about people by how they handle four things: A rainy day, the elderly, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas lights. /Finnick&Annie. Modern day AU. For Iris.
1. A Rainy Day

**a/n [**_Modern day AU. _This is technically four one-shots with a similar plot. _The quote it revolves around is not mine, and I don't whose it is. Uses c/p prompt 'inspire'. For the Iris._**]**

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**Chapter I - A Rainy Day**

**:::**

_You can tell a lot about people by how they handle four things: A rainy day, the elderly, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas lights._

**:::**

The last week of autumn started with a rain that carried all the way through without stopping, without relenting, and most certainly without mercy.

On the first day, the light, innocent _drip drop dripping _of the rain was celebratory. Winter was coming! At last! And a couple, safely hidden indoors, danced in socks on the slippery kitchen floor, rejoicing in the unofficial start of the season. They had music and laughter and the fireplace crackling in the living room. The drenched garden, oozing mud, and puddles would have to wait for another day to shine, because anything outside the reach of the kitchen's light had ceased to exist.

The fifth day was spent sitting on the floor, in thicker socks, wrapped in blankets, and turning the thermostat up and up. The rain still pattered down, it's _drip drop dripping_ less innocent. A balled up sock was thrown at the window in annoyance only to be fetched later by cold toes. Once the sock was placed carefully on, and the toes had wiggled quickly, checking the blood flow, the sock thrower collapsed onto the ground, a hand clutching his heart, groaning in agony.

He was hit by the corner of a blanket, effectively quieting him, and the sock thrower and the blanket hitter stared at each other, eyes wide open, not wanting to be the first to be blink. Naturally he blinked first, and at the moment of defeat, went back to groaning.

"I hate winter," he said, as blatant and unforgiving as the storm.

"Good thing it's not winter, then," she replied, tugging the blankets farther around her before curling up on the ground next to him. The fireplace sparked behind her, and she closed her eyes, encased in warmth. Two years ago she'd been fighting off the cold in a lousy apartment by herself. Now she thanked the stars, because only they could take her from there to here.

"Smartass," he whispered, fingers curling in her hair.

She laughed softly, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. Hiding from the storm, from the cold, from anything that he could shield her from. He was her haven.

"We could just pretend it's summer then," she suggested.

"Pretending won't make it warmer." He was as pessimistic as always.

She pressed a chaste kiss under his jaw before sliding away from his embrace and sitting up. Stretching out her arms, she let the blanket fall from her shoulders, ignoring the chill as she stood and searched for a raincoat.

He was still on the floor when she came back to him, tied tightly in her coat and holding out his for him like a prize. His nose scrunched up, and he stayed on the floor, watching her.

"What are you doing?"

"Going outside."

"It's pouring buckets, Ann," he complained, but he was already sitting up, partly from the realization that he couldn't argue his way out of this one and partly because he was tempted by the adventure.

"You don't have to come, " she sang, opening the front door.

Annie already knew he wasn't going to stay put.

The shock of the sudden cold had her rooted in place for a moment, rethinking her idea, but she was nothing if not stubborn. By the time she had gathered the courage to step out the door, he was right behind her, struggling with his coat zipper, an umbrella dangling from his arm.

They didn't ever end up needing it, though.

She was already walking freely up and down the sidewalk, a bounce in her step each time she turned to go the other way. He stayed under the safety of the overhang, just watching her for a bit. When she lifted her arms up and starting spinning, he could hear her laugh through the heavy _drip drop dripping_ of the rain.

"You're such a cliché!" he yelled, his hand tightening around the umbrella.

She glanced at him and smiled. "Come on, Finnick! It's not going to bite you."

Hesitantly, he stepped out into the rain. The cold drops did seem to bite at his hands and face for the first few moments as he tried to hide further into his jacket, but it faded away into something softer. He took another step forward, his rubber boot splashing softly in a puddle, and smiled.

Smaller feet ran up and jumped into a puddle in front of him. Annie looked at him with bright eyes, and he forgot about the storm. Throwing the umbrella back on the porch, he grabbed her hands and pulled her towards him. The _drip drop dripping _seemed to fade away against Annie's laughter.

"What is it now?"

"I'm cold," she said, burying her face in his coat. "You were right. This was a terrible idea."

By the time the storm had let up, the two were hidden away inside again, the curtains drawn, and towels draped over their shoulders. She sat on the kitchen island, eyes glued to the microwave. He was digging through the cupboards for some cocoa mix. When the water was done heating, Finnick emerged from the back of a shelf with two packets and a bag of marshmallows.

"Told you we had some," Annie said, stirring it in.

Sitting down on the counter with her, Finnick grabbed his mug with both hands, clutching it to his chest. He was freezing, she realized, and it was mostly her fault. Setting her cocoa down, she curled up into his side, careful not to spill his own drink.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Why? Today was wonderful," he said, pressing a kiss to her head.

"So you like winter now, then?"

He smiled. "I thought it wasn't winter yet."

"Smartass." She laughed.

And it felt right, sitting there, together. It felt like they could last through all the winters and storms and hot chocolates. It felt like they'd last forever.


	2. The Elderly

**a/n [**_This is waaay shorter, wow. And it's basically just Annie's point of view. Whatever, difference is grand anyway. Uses the c/p prompt 'muse'. Still for the Iris._**]**

**:::**

**Chapter II - The Elderly**

**:::**

_You can tell a lot about people by how they handle four things: A rainy day, the elderly, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas lights._

**:::**

From the stories she'd been told, Annie expected a lively woman with slightly greying hair and too bright smiles and eyes. Instead, when the door opened long after she'd knocked, a short old lady stood in the foyer, and from the looks of it, she was more exhausted than bright. Annie smiled in a quick greeting, unsure of what to say. She had not prepared herself enough for this moment.

Next to her, Finnick plopped the bags down in a small heap and wrapped his arms around the woman tightly, even lifting her toes from the ground. Annie imagined how sweet it would be had he still been a small child, but now she was only worried he'd knock her to the ground or crush her lungs before she had the chance to cry out.

When he pulled away, he was grinning bigger than the night sky, and it pulled another small smile out of Annie. Still, as a nervous habit, she gave a tug on her sleeve to pull it down, and fiddled with a loose thread. The awkwardness was so thick she could almost see it, but she took a deep breath because it was, after all, just in her head.

When Annie extended her hand, trying to relieve some of her discomfort, the elder woman ignored it entirely and moved straight in for a hug that was too tight for comfort. The stories of her suddenly all started to make sense. It disappointed Annie that she was so quick to judge.

The stories, when all pieced together, were something like this.

The woman's name was Mags, which was short for something, but the nickname had been in use for so many years that nobody could remember what it really was. Apparently, since the beginning of time, or at least close enough to it, she'd been a foster mom. Finnick was the last child she ever took in.

But the stories always portrayed her as a superhero. Baking a fresh batch of cookies every day after school. Painting the house a new color every June. Once she'd won second prize in a home makeover magazine. And the clothes she knitted were the _softest things in the whole wide world_. (Annie knew that one first hand, though. She'd stolen plenty of Finn's sweaters on cold nights.)

"Lovely to meet you, dear," Mags said, smiling and smiling and smiling, and even though there was no relation between her and Finnick, Annie couldn't help but see the similarities. This woman had all the wonder and greatness as her foster child did.

Immediately, Annie felt right at home.

"I've heard so much about you," she responded.

Finnick grabbed her hand, and together the three of them walked inside, invisible boundaries disappearing, and talked well into the evening of a little Finn, Mags' garden, and everything in between.


	3. Lost Luggage

**a/n [**_There's a true story behind the 'men who bought up the airplane's complete stock of alcohol' in this fic. Yeah, that was an awful flight. Sorry, these keep getting shorter. For the Iris, of course._**]**

**:::**

**Chapter III - Lost Luggage**

**:::**

_You can tell a lot about people by how they handle four things: A rainy day, the elderly, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas lights._

**:::**

The flight was, at best, tiresome. At the worst, Finnick mostly wished he could snap his fingers and make everyone else disappear. It didn't help that Annie slept for the entire ride, though he'd agreed to let her use his shoulder as a pillow, because he had to endure by himself the crying kids, the girl who refused to wear headphones, and the group of men across the aisle who bought up the airplane's complete stock of alcohol. (And let's not mention the flight attendant almost spilling the bottle of water on him when they passed through a nasty wave of turbulence.)

He was sitting on a bench, head in his hands, fighting off the exhaustion—it wasn't really his fault he couldn't sleep on planes—when Annie came back. Though he was only looking at the ground, when she stopped in front of him, it was enough to tell that there were no squeaky wheels of the suitcase behind her.

"I can't find it," she said, voice small. Her mind was whirring, thinking of all the things that were left there, probably never to be returned.

"Is it done?" he asked, looking over to the baggage claim. The crowd of people had been reduced to two families. Only a couple of bags still circled around. His question answered itself. "Have you talked to anyone yet?"

She shook her head. Her first response was to go to Finnick like always.

A fun fact: At 10:47 PM the airport personnel weren't the happiest campers.

Or, at least, the short man they asked for help wasn't a people person. After about four phone calls, Finnick started pacing restlessly. He always knew there was a reason he hated planes.

"Finn," Annie called, and with a deep breath he sat down next to her.

"We're stuck here for a week," he said, words rushing too fast. "Without clothes and the laptop and—oh, crap, the presents!"

"It helps to not think about it," she said. The plan had been working perfectly up until then, anyway, when he reminded her again of what they'd lost. She focuses on the ground for a moment to build up the strength for some optimism. "We still have money?"

A woman jogs over to assist the man that's still in the middle of his phone call. She glances over to Finnick, gives a reassuring smile, and starts writing something down. Turning back to Annie, he tries to forget about it all for a moment.

"I still have you." He grins.

"You're ridiculous," she concludes, but quickly kisses him anyway.

He leans back in, and even after two years, when his lips meet hers, her heart flutters.

"Merry Christmas Eve," he whispers.


	4. Tangled Chistmas Lights

**a/n [**_For the wonderful Iris. Merry Christmas, darling._**]**

**:::**

**Chapter IV - Tangled Christmas Lights**

**:::**

_You can tell a lot about people by how they handle four things: A rainy day, the elderly, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas lights._

**:::**

They were sitting in the living room of Peeta Mellark's house on a particularly unmemorable Christmas morning. Snow was falling lightly outside the window, the oven had just beeped with the promise of freshly baked sugar cookies, and actually it was almost like in the movies with the ugly sweaters and Santa hats and friends sitting around telling stories—except they didn't have a tree.

Well, there was a small, green pine sitting in the middle of the room with a full skirt covered by presents, but it wasn't decorated, and there weren't any lights, so there wasn't much purpose of it being there at all. Katniss insisted that they should be thankful she got a tree at all while Peeta informed them of the box of decorations in the back of the attic.

When Finnick walked down the stairs carefully, a giant cardboard box in his arms, Johanna, watching lazily from the couch, yelled at him not to trip. He dropped the box on her lap in retaliation.

They met in college, the five of them, the friendship starting as an awkward meeting of mutual friends. It was obvious, once you looked closely, who was closer to whom and who knew each other best since they hadn't had the best first—or second or third or fourth, etc.— meetings. However, the rest of their friends they invited were busy with family or couldn't get a plane ticket in time. (And Madge's flight was delayed, so she wouldn't arrive until tomorrow. They spent an hour talking with her over the phone, wishing happy holidays, sending virtual hugs, and thinking of more awful places to spend Christmas besides Madge's hotel room.)

Peeta walked in with the previous batch of cookies, now decorated, but the sudden rush to dive into the box for the lights mostly ignored him. Katniss slinked past, grabbed a cookie shaped like a reindeer, and sat on the couch to watch the spectacle.

The lights, it turned out, had been forced into one giant, intricate knot. It was set on the floor, voted two-to-one that it wasn't worth the hassle, and Finnick and Johanna dug around the contents of the box, spurred by the sudden game of whoever-finds-the-best-ornament-has-to-give-the-other-an-extra-Christmas-present. Opting out of the game, Annie sat on the floor and started to untangle the lights.

"It's impossible, Ann," Finnick warned her, dangling a crystal ornament up to the light for inspection.

"Nothing's impossible," she replied.

Johanna frowned at the prize Finnick had just found before turning the knotted pile. "Yeah, but you'll need a Christmas miracle to work through that mess."

Truthfully, by the time the tree had been covered in every last ornament he box had to offer—Finnick's crystal ornament had won after all— Annie was still pulling at the cords, trying to be careful around the fragile wires connecting each bulb. Johanna laughed, a small _I told you so_ escaping her lips, but Finnick just sat down beside her and helped, thinking that there were worse things he could be doing on Christmas.

"You've gotta push this part through that loop," he said, holding up his string to the part she was working on.

"No, I need to get this end around that one first," she argued before doing just that then grapping Finnick's cord and pulling it through. The string of lights, now perfectly free of knots, sat innocently in her lap as if it hadn't just wasted so much time.

With a cheer, Finnick jumped to his feet, pulling Annie up and swinging her around once in celebration.

With Peeta's help, they strung the lights through the branches of the tree, maneuvering around the ornaments already placed, while Johanna stood in the background muttering disbelief and Katniss swiped another sugar cookie.

"A Christmas miracle," Johanna said, trying to take the glory away from her laughing friends.

"Annie's the miracle," Finnick countered, and Annie's cheeks turned red.

So there, in the rainbow glow of the Christmas lights, he leaned down to kiss her, and it was a Christmas to remember after all.


End file.
